


Perhaps

by kamidog



Category: Get Your Man, Get Your Man (Webcomic)
Genre: 1900s Canada, Fluff, M/M, singing Mountie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 19:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1123695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamidog/pseuds/kamidog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles William Pemberton dislikes horses.<br/>Too bad he's stuck in a backwater town in the Canadian North West and has a best friend who is a Mountie.<br/>Things don't look good when said Mountie takes him on a rescue mission, but maybe in the end it's not all quite so bad?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps

**Author's Note:**

> I'm neither a real writer, nor even a native speaker, so uhhh?
> 
> This is a universe that me and Kit plan to turn into a sorta kinda fake Disney movie-ish thing.   
> Of course we can't do an entire animated movie, so we'll settle with one of those prettyly illustrated books that come with every new Disney movie.  
> Get your Man is basicially about a Mountie and a surgeon in 1900s Canada.

 

Charles William Pemberton dislikes horses. Their impressive height, their large teeth and strong jaws, their speed and seemingly unpredictable moods all spell out disaster to CW. Yet, since his arrival in Canada he keeps ﬁnding himself being pushed and pulled into situations requiring close proximity to these very creatures.

 

Being called in the middle of the night to help a horse give birth to _another_ horse seemed bad enough at the time, especially since his favorite shirt did not make it through the ordeal. But the young horse lived and so did it's mother and the Mountie smiled - and that alone had almost been worth it all.

 

But the riding. The riding is bad. Terrifying, to be honest.

 

Sitting on the back of a horse, a living horse, seems like the worst idea in the history of mankind. The ﬁrst and only time the guides leading the little group of settlers he unceremoniously had attached himself to sat him on one of the beasties, CW started shaking so hard, his mind went blank with it. How he got down from the horse and into the back of the wagon, he can not, for the life of him, say. But in the wagon he stayed, as nobody ever tried again to make him ride.

 

Until a moose gets trapped in a bear trap and requires immediate surgical assistance. CW of course is no veterinarian but the Mountie has a deep love and respect for all living creatures, a heartfelt dislike for traps of any sort ( it just isn't the Canadian way, waylaying somebody who simply goes about their business, in the good belief nothing bad could befall them, Charles.)  and has anyway such a way with his gentle words and even gentler, pleading eyes, that CW ﬁnds it hard to deny the man any one thing.

 

Not being able to ride on his own, Francis has them ride double. Riding double is both better and worse than anything CW has endured before in life. Close proximity to the horse has his heart beating double-time and his mind consumed with fear. Close proximity to the Mountie has his poor heart also doing loop- de- loops in his chest and his mind consumed with something else altogether...

 

The fear wins out for most of the ride, though.

 

Once found, the moose proves a surprisingly well-behaved patient. With the Mountie's soothing hands on his mighty head the giant beastie hardly ﬂinches as CW quickly sews together the ﬂesh and skin on his mangled leg. When the "operation" is done and after resting a further moment, the moose raises himself up to his full, impressive height, sending a ﬂash of fear through the surgeon. But the creature simply trots oﬀ into the wilderness without so much as a glance back.

 

It is on the dreaded ride back when things really take a turn for the worse. Crossing a small clearing in the woods, the Mountie hears an entirely unexpected - and, to CW, entirely   soundless - noise, excuses himself, jumps from the horse's back and disappears between the trees, presumably to investigate the sound. There is a short delay and then the realization hits CW like a wet rag: he is alone. In the untamed Canadian north-west.  On a _horse_. He can feel the fear freezing him, from his toes to his scalp, like the pin-prick cold of icy water. He barely dares to move his eyes so as to look at the source of his terror: the horse seems entirely unperturbed by both it's owner rushing oﬀ and the column of salt currently sat atop it's back.  It bends it's head to scratch at its leg and it's tail swishes gently. CW can feel the horse's breath widening and narrowing its ribcage and the steady rhythm makes him feel almost as though in a meditative state, when the beastie suddenly gives a quiet cry,-

 

And the world goes blank again.

 

When he comes to, CW ﬁnds himself on the forest ground. There is something somewhat soft under his head, a small campﬁre burning nearby and the concerned face of the Mountie hovering over him.

 

"Charles. Charles? Are you awake?"

 

"I, uhm..." Is all he manages before a ﬁerce headache rolls over him.

 

"Oh, thank goodness, you're awake! Miss Mae must have bucked and thrown you, although I cannot fathom what made her-".

 

CW weakly raises a hand.

 

"It's quite...alright, Francis. But could you please...please just sit down and be quiet for a moment."

 

The Mountie snaps into a sitting position next to CW and with a much quieter voice says: "Of course, Charles."

 

CW props himself up in a much more laborious fashion accompanied by several grunts and groans of pain and proceeds to perform a perfunctory check up on himself. His hand comes back from the back of his head free from blood, which is a deﬁnite relief, but the brief touch sends waves of pain through him, leaving him reeling and his eyes blurred with tears. After a moment of concentrated, deep breathing he regains his composure.

 

"I seem to have hit my head on my way down from your horse." , he turns his head carefully to the Mountie with a wry smile.

 

The other man simply looks at him with a deeply concerned crease between his eyebrows, apparently not talking anymore without prompt.

 

"It's nothing very bad, Francis. Just a mild concussion and a headache to go with it. What had you running oﬀ into the woods all out of a sudden? Did you ﬁnd another beastie in need?"

 

"I...no, Charles. There was a sound like the warning cry of a Assiniboine  brave, which was strange because for one this kind of cry usually is only used in times of war and also we are one week's hard ride away from the nearest Piikani camp."

 

"So there was no Assiniboine  brave?"

 

The Mountie wrings his gloved hands in dismay, looking for all the world as though it was him who has thrown CW.

 

"No, Charles."

 

"Aah, Francis it wasn't your fault I fell from your horse." CW runs a hand over his still slightly throbbing head and looks back at the Mountie who looks back tentatively, still not entirely believing that his misjudgment in native warning cries is not the reason for his friends injury. "You know how I...how horses... How...well, you know."

 

"You know there is no reason to be afraid of Miss Mae. She is a truly well-behaved horse, Charles."

 

"Of course I know that. I know most horses are no more a threat than a sled-dog, but sometimes...sometimes you're afraid of the mere potential of a threat. When something is so big, it might just overrun you and there is no way you can do anything about it, once it happens... You just try to stay away from things like that, Francis...or at least, I do."

 

Becoming acutely aware of the heat the ﬁre seems to give oﬀ, CW ﬁnds it suddenly hard to keep the Mountie's intense amber gaze. He fears he said too much, or too little. When did his monologue turn from an attempt to explain his phobia into this confession of sorts, anyway? And, more importantly, what did he almost confess just now?

 

He clears his throat and for once it's him who is neat and snappy, as he turns his head to look at the horse hobbled nearby. But that's a mistake, he realizes, when the pain is back with its full might and he reels with it and the accompanying nausea.

 

The Mountie's hands shoot out in a ﬂash, steadying him by the shoulders.

 

"Maybe you should better lie back down, Charles."

 

He nods meekly and lets the Mountie gently rearrange him, so he is laying down again, only this time it's no extra saddle blanket under his head, but a warm lap in dark blue breeches.

 

For all his confusion and pain, CW can't quite keep the smile oﬀ his face as he looks up into  his friend's face. The Mountie simply can not and will not ever let anything go without knowing he has at least made any possible attempt at helping.

 

"Sing me a lullaby, Francis, please."

 

"A lullaby, Charles?"

 

"Just any old song you know will do. It'll help me fall asleep. But sing it quietly."

 

"...

Oh, promise me that you will take my hand,

  
The most unworthy in this lonely land,

  
And let me sit beside you in your eyes,

  
Seeing the vision of our paradise,

  
Hearing God's message while the organ rolls

  
Its mighty music to our very souls,

  
No love less perfect than a life with thee;

  
Oh, promise me! Oh, promise me!"

 

Perhaps there is a native of any kind nearby and he thinks he can hear a sound like the content sigh of a Scottish surgeon feeling not quite so overrun anymore in the wild Canadian north-west, but he must be mistaken.

 

   The End

**Author's Note:**

> The song Francis sings can be listened to here:  
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oh_Promise_Me


End file.
